The Million Pound Marriage Deal. Michelle Douglas
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scowled. ‘You’re being ridiculous.’
She held out her hand. ‘Then hold my hand.’
His scowl deepened but he took her hand. She immediately felt less alone.
Oh, but that scowl!
She tugged him closer and turned him so they could survey their reflections in the mirror above the mantelpiece. ‘Now there’s a lover-like expression if I ever saw one.’
He tried to smooth his face out and she was seized with a sudden urge to giggle.
‘This isn’t funny.’
But his eyes lightened as he said it and her smile widened. ‘It’s hilarious. You’re just too tense to admit it. You’re always tense when you mention Scotland, so I suppose it only makes sense that you’re tense now we’re here.’
His eyebrows rose.
‘It’s true. It’s always been true. There’ll be reasons for it—good ones, I expect—but I think it’ll help our cause somewhat if you pretend that I’ve helped you to un-tense a little on that front, don’t you?’
He stared down at her and it made her aware of their unusual proximity. Her pulse started to race.
‘You’ve really thought about this, haven’t you?’
‘Of course I have!’ His surprise stung. ‘You’re paying me a ridiculous amount of money to help you pull this off. I mean to do my best.’
His mouth opened and then closed. He blinked, and then something in the line of his jaw softened. ‘Thank you.’
She wanted to tug her hand from his. She wanted to bolt across to the other side of the room and put a sofa and coffee table between them. She forced herself to remain where she was. ‘Let’s save the gratitude for later...when we’ve managed to pull this off.’
He gave a hard nod. ‘Right. So...any other tricks besides holding hands that I should know about?’
His smile eased the chafe in her soul. This was a tense, high-stakes game they were playing. It made sense there’d be nerves, and that her every sense would be on high alert.
Carefully she reclaimed her hand and gestured to the mirror. ‘Pretend it’s after dinner and we’ve all adjourned to the drawing room. For a brief moment the two young lovers edge across to the fireplace to exchange a few private lover-like words.’
He grinned, entering into the spirit of things. His head drew down to hers. ‘Sophie?’
His breath stirred the hair at her temples and her heart leapt into her throat. ‘Yes?’
‘You have the most exquisite toenails I have ever seen. They rival every other toenail in the universe. You should’ve been a toenail model.’
She glanced down at her toenails, painted a jaunty pink, and wiggled them. ‘I had them done with you in mind.’
Her voice shook as she said it, and they both burst into laughter.
‘Did we just spoil the effect you were after?’
She shrugged, shaking her head. ‘I have no idea, but I’m pretty certain laughter is good, right?’
He smiled down at her, brushed a tendril of hair from her face. ‘It’s nice to hear you laugh, Sophie.’
Her stomach clenched. She had no right to laugh. She didn’t deserve to have fun. She had too much to make amends for. Once she’d made amends maybe then—and only then—would she have maybe earned the right to some happiness.
‘Hey, where’d you just go?’
Heavens, she needed to keep on track. ‘Sorry, I...’ She shrugged. ‘Sometimes it still seems wrong to be happy when Peter’s not here.’
‘He wouldn’t want you to keep grieving the way you have been.’
Wasn’t that the truth?
But it also wasn’t what Will meant, and it was none of his concern. He was doing enough for her already. She had to play her part here to perfection, and if that included laughing then she’d laugh.
‘Right, next scenario.’
He straightened. ‘Okay, hit me with it.’
‘We’re at a dinner party. There’s milling around before and afterwards. We’re talking to another couple or maybe two other couples. How do we stand?’
He pursed his lips. ‘You were smart to bring this up. If I think of you as Peter’s little sister Sophie, then I stand like this.’ He moved a step away. ‘At a discreet distance where I’d be careful not to invade your personal space.
He’d always been very careful not to do that.
‘But when you’re Sophie, my bride-to-be, then...’ He was silent for a moment and then draped an arm across her shoulders. Staring at their reflection, he frowned. ‘Now we just look like great mates.’
She waited for him to work it out. If she were the one doing all the cosying up it would look wrong. She’d look desperate too. Not that she cared what anyone here thought about her. But she did care about that million pounds, so she had to make sure Lord Bramley didn’t get suspicious.
‘Okay, this is better.’
Will pulled her in closer until she was plastered against his side. She swallowed. Too close. She rested a hand on his chest.
He frowned. ‘That could be a bit much.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘You think?’
‘I’m not appreciating your sarcasm.’
Yeah, well, maybe she wasn’t appreciating how long this was taking for him to get right. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had a lot of practice. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had a girlfriend before. He’d had a lot of them.
An itch chafed through her, followed by a burn.
He squared them off, his eyes turned towards the mirror rather than her, until his arm rested across her shoulders, the weight of it solid and reassuring while their hips bumped against each other’s lightly. ‘That’s good. And this could be good too.’
He moved her in front of him and wrapped arm about her upper chest, just above her breasts, pulling her back against him. She gritted her teeth.
‘Smile, Sophie.’
She met his gaze in the mirror and forced a smile to uncooperative lips. But as she continued to stare at him a ripple of recognition ran though her. This was Will—Peter’s best friend—and while he’d never really approved of her, she’d trust him with her life.
‘That’s better. This is...nice.’
He smiled back at her, but their gazes clung for a few seconds longer than they should have and Sophie found herself pulling free from Will’s embrace when what she really wanted to do was snuggle closer.
‘Or,’ she said, trying to cover her sudden sense of awkwardness, ‘we could simply stand close enough that we brush shoulders.’ She gestured to the mirror and brushed her arm against his. ‘We could link arms or—’
‘Hold hands,’ he said, enfolding hers in a warm grasp.
‘Or link hands,’ she added, desperately trying to ignore the warmth flooding her system as she interlocked their fingers.
‘Nice,’ he agreed before she broke away.
She could feel his gaze like a physical weight as she took a couple of steps away.
‘Is everything okay?’
His voice was quiet, measured, concerned. She turned and sent him what she hoped was a smile. ‘I’ve become a firm believer that what we do with our bodies affects us emotionally.’